Dempsey and Makepeace 4:5, Drinking With Charlie
by xLaramiex
Summary: Dempsey and Makepeace are sent to follow up a missing persons report; but after Dempsey's actions of the night before, how will their working relationship change?
1. PreTitles Sequence

_I've already sort of given up on using that timeline I mentioned, because this needs to follow directly on from the previous story._

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A dark-haired young woman fell out of the door to the club, hooting with laughter. As she took a drag from the cigarette dangling from her fingers, her friend emerged from the door and followed her. Strains of the music drifted after them as they made their drunken, unsteady way down the street. They stumbled in the general direction of the river, laughing and falling against each other.

"Look, watch me!" the dark-haired woman cried to her friend. She meandered onto the bridge and hauled herself up the railings, cackling and sucking in breaths of her cigarette. After clambering over the barrier, the woman threw out her arms and shouted, "I'm flying!" and let herself fall headfirst down, down, down; until, with a splash, she hit the water below.

Her friend waited a few seconds for the woman to surface. When nobody appeared she wandered away, still chuckling to herself as tendrils of smoke escaped her nostrils and curled around her head like vengeful snakes.


	2. Part 1

_I have started drawing some Dempsey and Makepeace fanart: xlaramiexDOTdeviantartDOTcom (replace the 'DOT' with '.'). What do you guys think?

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_To recap:_

_"Thank you for a wonderful holiday, James," she said, looking up at him sideways._

_"No, thank you," he countered. "I had a great time, Princess."_

_Then he did something which Harry would spend a large amount of time replaying and dissecting._

_He turned and kissed her full on the mouth. Their lips touched for a scant second but Harry felt as though an bolt of lightning jolted through her. It seemed to freeze her, freeze time, and for a moment she had never felt so alive._

_Then it was over, and he removed his arm from her shoulders._

_"James?" she said quietly, feeling as though a solid floor she hadn't previously been aware of had suddenly disappeared, leaving an abyss of dark swirling colours beneath her feet. What was he doing? And why?_

_He gave a laugh which seemed higher than usual. "Well lover-boy certainly seemed to be enjoyin' himself, I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about!" They regarded each other nervously. "Well, bye, Harry. I'll see you t'morrow." He hurried into his car and sped away with a screech of wheels, leaving Harry alone with the unnerving realisation that she enjoyed kissing her partner far more than she enjoyed kissing her boyfriend._

_"James…" she sighed into the night. "I think I've fallen for you."_

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* * *

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After Dempsey had driven away, Harry went into her kitchen and numbly got a bottle of wine out of the cupboard. She poured out a big glass and drank it down rapidly.

_I love him, I hate him, I want him, I distrust him, he makes me happy, he makes me angry, he makes me cry, he said he needed me but what did that mean maybe he just meant for the case but he never would have said that a year ago but he flirts with me but he flirts with everyone but it's not allowed but who cares about rules but he loves his job but who says he feels anything for me to even consider quitting and nothing's even started yet - yet? what am I expecting? but he kissed me but it probably means nothing but I want it to but what if it doesn't -_

Harry screamed mentally, trying desperately to drown out her thoughts. Her breathing became spasmodic, bringing forth tears to the corners of her eyes as she sank into the protective shelter of her arms. She didn't know what to do any more.

The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted her thoughts halfway through the bottle. Vaguely thinking that it might be Dempsey, Harry went to answer it with the wine glass still in her hand.

-:-

Dempsey was even later than usual getting to work the morning after he had kissed Harry. He was nervous, though he wouldn't admit that even to himself. Despite his tardiness, Harry had still not arrived when he strode into the office with a false air of bravado at twenty past nine. Even the least observant among his colleagues noted that he looked deflated at the realisation that she was not there, though most assumed it was because he'd been looking forward to seeing her. Almost everyone was involved in the office bet predicating how long it would be before they slept with each other, and most exchanged significant looks as he slumped moodily into his chair.

None of them knew that the real reason was because he had been rehearsing the breezy greeting he would give her as he sat down opposite her and rested his feet on the desk to show that he was casual (not that he was). Now he would have to re-imagine the first greeting from the submissive position of sitting down as she walked in.

He tried to busy himself with standing-up jobs like needlessly reorganising files and making coffee, then offering to make it for other people. He was too filled with tension to sit still. Every time the door opened he'd freeze then try to see who it was without being too obvious. He felt foolish but he couldn't help how he felt. His apprehension increased as time went on.

The minutes passed slowly until five to ten, when the door opened and the person behind it was finally Harry. All his planned nonchalance went out of the window when he saw her from his position behind the desk, because she looked awful. She was wearing sunglasses, though it wasn't particularly bright. A combination of her hunched shoulders and the careful way she was placing her feet made him realise that she was hung-over. Wordlessly, he went to make her a coffee as she made her slow way towards him.

He placed the cup on the desk in front of her just as she was lowering herself delicately into the chair. She sunk her head forwards into the support of her hands and ignored the coffee.

"Harry? Y'alright?" Dempsey asked apprehensively.

She nodded resolutely, but he noticed her wince.

"Hangover?"

Another nod.

Dempsey wondered if it was his fault that she'd drunk so much, then why kissing her led to her turning up late and hung-over.

Spikings looked out from his office. "Dempsey…Makepeace," he said in a low but dangerous voice.

They followed him apprehensively into the office, Harry significantly slower than Dempsey. Spikings waited until they were stood in front of him like naughty schoolchildren before he began to speak.

"What I would like to know," he said in an ominously polite voice, "is why the both of you have turned up several hours late this morning. I would also like to know why the sergeant here is apparently hung-over."

Harry cared little for the small piece of dignity she had left at that point, and was leaning on Dempsey as discreetly as she could. She couldn't face the thought of talking so she left it up to Dempsey to explain why he had been late before having to contemplate speaking.

"Slept through my alarm," Dempsey said abruptly.

Spikings' anger seemed to add a few inches to his height. "And you?" he said, still in that terribly polite voice, as he turned to Harry.

"In private, sir," Harry said as quietly as she could.

Spikings considered her for a moment, then jerked a head towards the door. "Get out, Lieutenant."

Dempsey scowled but, for once, did as he was bidden. When outside, he put his ear next to the door to listen. After a few seconds, the door was opened and Spikings glared at him, and he gave up. What was Harry saying? Was she going to tell Spikings what he'd done? Did it matter? He still didn't know if he was the reason for her hangover.

Dempsey sat on Harry's side of the desk so he could watch the door and thoughtlessly picked up a pen to tap on the table.

It was at least ten minutes before Harry emerged from the office, withdrawn and exhausted still. She took his chair without comment and seemed oblivious to his concerned gaze.

Dempsey gathered up his courage. "Harry, is this about last night? What I did?"

Harry met his eyes, hesitated, and shook her head; it was partly true. If it hadn't been for that phone call, she would probably still have got drunk, but definitely not that badly.

"What's up, then?" he persisted, pushing her cooling cup of coffee towards her.

Harry roused herself, took a sip of the drink, grimaced, and, put the cup down again. "Spikings isn't happy with us," she replied quietly, trying to avoid the question. To her relief, Dempsey did at last drop it.

-:-

"Shouldn't murder be doing this?" Harry complained that afternoon, glancing at Dempsey in the driver's seat. The car was stifling and though her headache was almost gone the heat was making her temper short. The one advantage was that it was helping her forget the awkwardness between the two of them.

"It's only some broad gone missin', it ain't necessarily a murder. Hey, what are you moanin' about? The sun is shinin', the sky is blue, and you're in a confined space with your favourite American." He turned to wink at her.

"You're the only American I know."

"Exactly, so I must be your favourite."

"That also means you're my least favourite American," she pointed considered this, his lips pushing out as he thought. "I think that just about sums us up," he observed matter-of-factly. With that, he pulled the steering wheel around and slammed on the brakes.

"Is that your version of parking?" Harry asked, sounding unimpressed as she got out and saw that the car was 'parked' diagonally and taking up two spaces. Even Dempsey could appreciate that 'abandoned' would have been a more accurate term.

"There's no one here to miss the space." Dempsey gestured around the almost-empty car park to illustrate his point. "C'mon Harry, quit moaning and let's go see this woman. What's her name?"

They walked together across the small car park towards the apartment building. "Toni. She's the one who reported her friend missing," she added helpfully.

"I knew that bit, I'm not stupid, I just forgot her name," Dempsey retorted defensively. He scowled briefly, but soon recovered.

"What are missing persons for, anyway?" Harry continued to grumble as they ascended in a pee-soaked lift. Dempsey hoped privately that she wouldn't be like this for long, and wondered if her distress was his fault after all; she was being short and snippy with him. Then he decided not to think about it any more.

As the lift arrived with a _ding_ he automatically placed a hand on Harry's lower back, only to have his arm slapped unceremoniously away. Stung, he resolved to keep his hands off her for the rest of the day. Maybe. What was the matter with her today? Usually her acceptance of the contact was as unconscious as his initiating it, but today it felt as though he'd done something wrong. Well, he was pretty sure he _had_, but Harry had said it wasn't his fault.

_BZZZ!_

The harsh sound of the buzzer as Harry pressed it cut through his thoughts. He took a moment to study her face in shadowy profile. He couldn't make out her expression through the gloom but, reluctant to be accused of staring (again), he quickly refocused his attention on the door.

At last, the door was opened a crack to reveal a sliver of a face. "Who are you?" asked a nervous voice.

"We're the police, you called us," Dempsey reminded her, showing her his ID. "About your friend, Lydia. Can we come in?"

Toni pushed the door closed and for a moment Dempsey thought she was locking them out, but then there was the rattle of a chain and she let them in. Toni was a slender woman, average height, early twenties. Tired grey eyes observed them warily from beneath the uncovered duvet she clasped around her body and over the top of her head.

Her apartment was unkempt and sparsely furnished. A pile of clothes were hanging over the back of a chair next to her bed, which Toni sank onto face-first with the duvet over her head. The room in which they were standing seemed to double as a living room and bedroom, and through an open door could be seen a kitchen. It was clearly the home of someone in a state of financial desperation.

It was usually Harry who did the public relations bit, but when she seemed unlikely to stir herself to speak Dempsey decided to take over. Harry continued gazing despondently at the carpet as he spoke. "When did you last see your friend?"

"Two nights ago," Toni said in a muffled voice. "We went swimming."

"Where?"

"In the river."

"In the river? Jeez, you musta been cold."

Toni remained under her duvet and said nothing.

"Where in the river?" Dempsey asked.

"Other side of town."

"Then what?"

"Then she…she just disappeared. I expect she wandered off to a pub or something, but there's some dodgy people around there."

"Can you show us?"

Toni twisted, and moved the blanket away from her face to look at them. "Okay," she said, her voice louder now that it was unencumbered by the heavy material. She slid out of bed and started dressing - she was still in her pyjamas -, stripping off without shame in front of them and pulling on scruffy trousers and a stained green t-shirt. She donned dark sunglasses and retreated into an old coat before picking up her keys and leading them outside. Dempsey waited impatiently as she turned the key firmly, and carefully made sure that the door was locked.

"Takes about an hour to walk there," Toni told Dempsey, who thus far was the only one to speak to her, as they piled into the lift.

"Ain't you got a car?"

Toni shook her head. "Can't afford it."

"I'll drive, then."

And so, with Toni navigating from the backseat, Dempsey drove them to a stretch of the river about half a mile downstream from one of the bridges which stretched imperiously across the water.

"You're sure this is the right place?" Dempsey checked.

Toni looked up and down the riverbank and nodded. "Definitely."

"Right then, Harry, I think it's time we go asking in pubs. Toni, can you remember where you went?"

"Um - no."

"No? You mean we're gonna have to go in every pub in the area asking if they saw your friend last night?"

Toni looked sheepish, which was answer enough.

Dempsey sighed irritably. "It's gonna be a long day."


	3. Part 2

_This plot may be a bit anachronistic, I'm not really sure._

-:-:-

It was at least three hours before they'd covered all the pubs within a mile radius of the spot Toni had taken them to. After this time, Dempsey drove Toni back to her flat and he and Harry drove back to SI10.

"Kinda weird that none of the pubs recognised Toni or that picture of Lydia," Dempsey said.

"They get a lot of customers," Harry replied faintly, staring out of the window.

"So you don't see anything suspicious about all this?" Dempsey demanded.

"Not really."

"Harry." Dempsey waited for her to look at him, but, when she didn't, he called her name again and shook her. "Harry!" At last she met his eyes. "There's somethin' really wrong with you, Harry, 'cause your emotions are foulin' up your police work. If you didn't see anything suspicious about today then quite frankly you're bein' a lousy cop."

Harry stared at him, shocked out of her thoughts for the moment.

"Number one, that water was far too dirty to swim in unless you're seriously drunk, and that kid said they'd been on lemonade all night. Number two, not one of those pubs knew anythin' about her or her friend."

"But they get so many people in," Harry protested, but Dempsey cut across her.

"Number three, she was on edge the entire time, like she was waitin' for us to figure out she was lying. Four, she showed every sign of bein' a regular drug user."

"What?"

"Depression, anxiety, paranoia," he rattled off, checking off each point on his fingers, "signs of flu, too poor for a car, breathing problems, chest pains. That broad's lyin' to us in more ways than one. And if you'd been payin' attention, _Sergeant_, you'd've noticed she even has red marks on her arms like she's been scratchin' at 'em. Crack makes you imagine bugs in your skin, remember?"

"You think she smokes cocaine?" Harry said with a sceptical note to her voice.

"Yeah I do, and if you had your eyes open you'd see it too!" Dempsey shouted back angrily. "If you don't wanna tell me what's up, fine, but don't make me deal with you bein' a stupid cop as well as wonderin' if you're okay!"

Anger, sadness and guilt swirled around Harry's mind, and she could say nothing. Dempsey turned away from her as though he was disgusted with her, and Harry almost burst into tears. Why had he had to choose the night before to confuse her so utterly? She needed him as a friend now, more than she ever had before.

"Control to Charlie-5, come in, please," came Chas's crackling voice. Dempsey shot Harry an unreadable glance before picking up the RT.

"Charlie-5 receiving."

"They've found a body matching the missing woman's description a hundred yards downstream of that bridge. The local bobbies picked up Toni to identify the girl."

"Hey, Chas, make sure they do a drugs test on the body."

"You think she was taking drugs?"

"Dempsey, there is no evidence that either of them are taking drugs," Harry burst out angrily.

"Yeah, Chas, I'm sure of it," Dempsey continued, ignoring her. "Probably crack, but I ain't certain. If she was, we might be able to nail one of the dealers for her death."

"Roger that." There was a slight pause, a crackle of static. "The boss says he wants the big guys for this. Over and out."

Dempsey put down the receiver and ignored Harry's scowl. It irritated him that she was letting her emotions affect her work; he'd thought he could trust her not to let anything faze her. With the possible exception of that Lowe bloke. And the time her friend had been killed. Stupid woman. They shouldn't let broads be cops, he'd said that from the beginning.

-:-

"Hey Chas, any news on that body?" Dempsey asked later that day.

"Yep, she was identified as Lydia and they think they've found traces of cocaine." Chas glanced automatically at Harry as he said this last; he'd heard her exclamation earlier and wondered if this was going to lead to another row. He saw Harry's jaw set and made his escape just as Dempsey turned to look at her with a smug expression on his face.

"I guess I was right after all, hey, Sergeant?" he goaded her.

Harry met his eyes defiantly and said firmly, "Let's go and find out who her supplier is then, shall we?"

Dempsey smirked as she plucked her coat from the back of her chair and led the way out of the office.

-:-

Harry felt a sense of déjà vu as she and Dempsey pulled up in the car park of Toni's building. Though the morning had been hot and bright, and it was now cooler due to the sun beginning to set, there was still a sense of sameness that was hard to shake off. That morning felt like a million years ago. The previous night felt as though it had happened to somebody else.

The lift arrived with a _ding_ and the partners were let into Toni's apartment.

"We gotta coupla questions to ask you," Dempsey said, without preamble, as they followed Toni into the kitchen. "First question, what drugs were you and your friend on the night she died?"

"We weren't on anything," Toni replied calmly, putting water into the kettle.

Dempsey made a sceptical face. "Second question, why are you lying to us?"

"I'm not lying about anything." Toni put the kettle down with unnecessary force.

At this point Dempsey lost his patience; he swung her around and shoved her against the kitchen wall with a hand next to her throat. "I'm gonna ask you again 'coz I don't like it when people lie to me," he said, pushing his face into hers. Toni's eyes were wide with fear.

"Dempsey!" Harry exclaimed as Toni's eyes filled with tears.

"Shut up, Harry. Now you listen to me: your friend has washed up out the river higher up than you said you were swimming and with her blood full o' drugs." Dempsey ignored Harry angrily calling his name again. "Maybe you don't care that much about your friend but I wanna find someone to arrest and you are obstructing an officer in pursuit of his duties."

Suddenly he found himself pulled bodily away from Toni, who sank down in relief, clutching her throat; a hand connected sharply with his face. "You've gone too far, Dempsey!" Harry shouted as he put a hand to his cheek, mostly out of shock. "She's twenty-two, and she's just had to identify the body of her friend. She's not some murdering criminal. She's a young woman who's been through a lot in the last few days and you need to show some respect."

From Dempsey's scowl, Harry wasn't sure if she'd got through to him or not; it looked like he was just sulking. She turned to Toni, who was looking between the two of them looking vaguely surprised. "Listen, Toni," she said gently. "You're not going to get into any trouble as long as you answer a couple of questions. We need to know who your supplier is and what really happened the night Lydia died."

Toni flinched at the word "died" but seemed much calmer. "We went to The Rose and Crown first and had a pint, then we went to the Dance club and drank loads more - I don't remember what - and that's where we met this guy selling crack." She paused. "We both have it regularly, just not from this guy before. He's called…" she hesitated, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "Billy."

"Can you remember what he looked like?" asked Harry, who'd automatically pulled out her notepad. Dempsey stood a pace behind with his arms folded defensively. She ignored him.

"Tall…About forty…Blonde hair…He had some serious sideburns." She demonstrated by waving her fingers over the area that was obviously covered in hair on Billy.

Harry smiled. "Right. Anything else?"

Toni shook her head.

"I'm sure that will be very helpful," Harry reassured her. "Shall we go?" she added, to Dempsey.

-:-

"This is a bit of a long shot," Dempsey pointed out in a low voice as they entered the club. "He might not even be here."

Harry was scanning the room, and did not reply. The dance floor was alive with writhing bodies, many trailing a cigarette from their lips and holding a drink in their hand. The bright lights flashed and moved, now highlighting a drunken dancer, now a pair kissing in a corner.

Spotting a man with sideburns consisting of long blonde hair which stretched to the bottom of his ears, Harry nudged Dempsey and pointed him out as discreetly as she could.

"Certainly looks like a Billy," Dempsey remarked, and they made their way round the edge of the crowded dance floor towards him. "Hey there, Billy, right? Whatcha sellin'?"

"Depends, that. Who's asking?" Billy responded.

"Dan Green and Lynda Carlisle," Harry lied smoothly in her American accent. Dempsey glanced at her with faint surprise and more than a touch of amusement. "We're not gonna be in town for very long but we heard you might be able to sell us something…_fun, _you know?"

"Oh, yeah? And where you 'eard that from?" Billy asked warily.

"Someone you sold a bit o' Charlie to last week," Dempsey replied.. "Good stuff, yeah?"

"I only sell the best." This was said with the hint of the sneer, but he seemed to be clicking into 'sell' mode.

"Where d'you get that from?" Dempsey asked. "Only, we were hoping to land quite a bit of it before we go home, if you get me. There'd definitely be somethin' in it for you if you could help us out."

Billy looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes. "You bobbies?" he asked suspiciously.

"Eh, what?"

"Coppers, are you coppers?"

"Now, ain't that a nice thing to say to a guy?" said Dempsey, feigning offence. "'Course we ain't cops, what would a cop want with you? All we want is a bit of a fun time, alright? We'll give you double on what we're buying just for a name."

Billy rotated his jaw as he considered the proposition. "What you buying?"

"Sweetheart, whadda you want?" Dempsey asked, turning to Harry.

"Well, Dan, you know how much I like my Charlie," she replied, staying in role.

"Just one for now, we'll see how things go," Dempsey said to Billy. He paid what Billy asked for for the drug and Billy said, "I get it from a bloke called Max Weaver. 'E's got a fish and chip shop near the river but he sells more than that if you ask him nicely."

"Right y'are, Billy," Dempsey replied.

"Let's go dance, honey," Harry said to Dempsey - now they'd got what they came for she didn't want to stick around long enough to rouse Billy's suspicions further.

Dempsey put an arm around Harry's waist as they walked away from Billy. "You're doin' my favourite accent again, Harry," he said into her ear.

"God, I'm thirsty. Why don't we have a drink before we go?" she suggested, sidestepping the dangerous conversational waters of what Dempsey found attractive.

Harry watched him walk towards the bar, thinking. She'd seen people on drugs before, scores of times. They didn't always look happy, exactly, but they never seemed to be worrying about the normal problems that occupied them the rest of the time. That was just what she wanted; a few hours just to forget everything that was weighing on her mind. She looked down at the occasionally crackling cigarette in her hand, then over at Billy. He was watching her with narrowed eyes. Well, she justified, she couldn't blow the case.

She raised the drug-laden cigarette to her lips and breathed in deeply.

-:-:-

_Note: I have never taken any drugs and know only what I have googled, so if I'm vague or incorrect then I'm…well, not sorry at all, actually - I'd rather be ignorant than addicted._


	4. Part 3

It took several minutes for Dempsey to make himself heard over the other people draped over the bar, but at last he managed to get the attention of the barman to ask for a beer and a glass of champagne. The twenty-ish year old behind the bar was nonplussed by the request for champagne and told Dempsey they didn't have any. "Fine, two beers," he amended, annoyed.

When at last he turned back to find Harry, he couldn't immediately see her. Scanning the room, he finally noticed her dancing with as much enthusiasm as the most energetic of the dancers. She was beaming with a glowing ecstasy as she threw herself into her quick, frenzied movements; angelic, demonic. His eyes were fixed on her, captivated, as he approached; half of the beer ended up over his fingers as his lack of care sent him bumping into people.

"James!" she cried, and Dempsey wondered - worried - about the sudden change in her mood. She'd been miserable earlier, on the verge of tears, and now she was euphoric. She stumbled to a stop, trembling slightly. "Isn't this wonderful!" She threw her head back and laughed, then took the drinks from him and laid them down on the floor. Dempsey was reminded of the one and only time she'd been drunk, but she wasn't drunk now, surely? She hadn't drunk anything.

Harry took his face in her hands. "Come on, sexy," she said, and her voice was suddenly so sincere that it shocked him. He would never, in a million years, have expected those words to exit Harry's mouth. "Let's dance," she continued, the rapturous grin creeping over her face again. Dempsey continued to watch her. It was dawning on him what she'd done.

After a few seconds of dancing alone, Harry seemed to realise that Dempsey wasn't joining in. Pushing close to him, Harry pulled him down to whisper in his ear: "Or would you rather be doing something else?" She paused just long enough for him to consider kissing her but before he could act, she moved away with another wild laugh, to his mingled relief and disappointment.

Dempsey refrained from touching Harry, angry and attracted in equal measures. Harry, however, had other ideas, and held him as close as possible to her. He breathed deeply and tried to pretend he wasn't tempted at all. After a minute or two, her grip slackened as she dissolved into giggles. Dempsey began to feel more angry: angry that she'd taken the stupid drug in the first place, angry that she scorned his advances when sober but flirted when she was drunk or drugged up, angry that he was still _so damn tempted_ to hold her close and kiss every inch of her - angry that his own feelings on his duty as a friend prevented him from doing so.

He grabbed her upper arm roughly and dragged her out of the club; she continued cackling gleefully to herself. When outside, Dempsey pushed her back against the wall of the club, placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned on them. "Are you going to kiss me, James?" she asked, looking faintly hopeful. Or was he imagining that? He must be.

"No, I'm gonna stand here with you 'til you calm down and then I'm gonna take you home," he replied curtly. He watched her face intently, seeing her emotions clear on her face for once. Over the next few minutes he saw her fading out of her ecstasy, clinging onto the last vestiges of it all the time. Her hands raised and gripped hold of his elbows desperately.

"James?"

"I'm here," he reassured her. "C'mon, let's get you home."

The journey back to Harry's house was passed in silence. Dempsey clutched the steering wheel tightly, fuming quietly. It wasn't until he glanced at the passenger seat that he realised that Harry was resting her head back on the back of the seat with her eyes closed.

When at last they reached Harry's house, Harry didn't stir. Dempsey got out, opened her car door, and leaned over her to undo her seatbelt. He couldn't decide whether to kiss her or hit her; he settled for helping her out of the car. Together, they made it to her front door, with Harry leaning on Dempsey as though all the strength had been sucked out of her. When Dempsey hesitated on the doorstep, Harry curled her fingers around his hand and he stepped over the threshold like a docile sheep before leading her into her own living room, loathe to let go of her hand.

They sat on the sofa, still hand-in-hand, for several minutes.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?" he burst out suddenly, withdrawing his hand to gesture with them both exasperatedly. "What the _hell_ were you thinkin'? We were supposed to be gettin' information, we weren't supposed to be gettin' high!"

Harry clasped her hands between her knees and hunched over them. "Were you worried about me?" she asked in a flat voice.

"You know what? Yeah, I'm worried about you. You've been behavin' like an idiot for two days and I wanna know why. You're obviously upset about somethin' and you won't even _tell_ me."

Harry noted that he sounded hurt, and realised that he saw her refusal to speak as a betrayal of friendship, a betrayal of trust. But she couldn't find the words to tell him. She couldn't find any words at all. Eventually she let out a long sigh and went to sit at her piano.

Dempsey followed. She picked out a slow, mournful tune with great concentration, her eyes closed. Dempsey listened without speaking, frustrated and curious. He'd never heard this before. The notes flowed over each other like waves on a beach in winter; the tune made him feel cold.

Harry hit the last few notes and withdrew her hands from the keys, her head bowed.

"Sounds kinda sad," he noted, not knowing what else to say but beginning to feel worried by her continued attempts to shut him out.

"It's supposed to be. It's about death. It was Freddie's favourite song."

"Ain't it any more?"

"What?"

"You said it 'was' his favourite song. What's he like now?"

Her head bowed lower. A horrible, sick feeling crept over Dempsey as he realised that tears were flowing down her face. "James…" she said, and her voice was choked with tears, an octave higher than the norm. "My father's dead."

Dempsey stared at her in shock; he'd never expected her to say anything like that. "What?"

"He's dead. He's dead. Last night. They rang me last night and they said…they said he's dead."

"But - what - how?"

"Heart attack," she replied, her voice rising further in pitch, and her shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs.

Dempsey stood watching her for a few more seconds, bewildered, until he decided that he should hold her. Helping her up from the stool, he held her close against his chest, one arm around her waist and the other holding the back of her head gently.

"I'm sorry Princess…" he murmured, then was silent, letting her cry openly on his chest. She buried her face in the curve of his neck and clung to him as though he was the only thing that could save her from sliding, heartbroken, into a pool of despair. At that point, he probably was. This thought made him hold her more securely against his body, until at last her sobs subsided and she became still.

"What am I going to do, James? What on earth am I going to do?"

He had no answer.

"Oh, God…" she murmured.

He stroked her hair soothingly.

"He likes you, you know. Liked you. Likes you. I always told him you're annoying and American and…but I guess he was right about you being a friend."

Dempsey had a feeling that, in a roundabout way, she was paying him a compliment.

"What on earth am I going to do?"

Dempsey decided that she needed a distraction and some time to calm down. He loosened his hold enough to look into her face. "You go sit down on the sofa, I'll make you some coffee, alright?" He paused on his way to the kitchen in case she answered; when no answer came, he continued on his way, but waited again when she said faintly:

"Coffee?…Bloody coffee…" She gave a deep sigh and said in a slightly stronger voice. "Dempsey, everyone knows you should have tea in a crisis." He glanced back to see her running a hand through her hair in distress, and she muttered - more to herself than to him - "You're never going to fit in here, are you?"

A few years ago - hell, probably even a month ago - he would have rejoiced to hear those words, as confirmation that he hadn't lost any of his American identity. But today he felt as though the words had struck his heart and were spreading through his veins like a poison, numbing every part of him.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, Dempsey considered his life in England. What did it have to offer him that America couldn't? It had the same bars, the same colleagues, the same lowlife scum, the same girls, the same days, and the same nights. It rained more and the drink of choice was different, and he couldn't see any reason not to return to America and be back among people who didn't double-take at his accent, mock his choice of hot beverage or shout at him every time he got his gun out.

Except, he could see a reason. Harry.

Harry as a colleague, Harry as a friend, Harry as a beautiful woman…

Harry as the ever-resisting object of his unworthy affection. He wasn't sure what his feelings were, but he was quite sure that she was worth the attempt of finding out.

He finished the drink and brought it out to her, putting it on the floor next to her on the sofa. She was fast asleep, looking peaceful and serene. She barely stirred as he carried her up to bed and pulled the blankets over her. As he left, he gave her a last, longing look. "Why can't you be like that when you're sober, eh, Harry?" he said softly.

-:-

_BRRIING!_

The sound of the telephone cut through Harry's sleep and wrenched her awake as surely as though someone had thrown an icy bucket of water over her. She lay gasping from the sudden shock but just as she'd recovered enough to reach for the phone, it stopped ringing. Rolling her eyes at the pointless disturbance, she lay back against her pillows.

Only to realise that she could hear a voice downstairs.

"She's asleep, what are _you_ ringin' for?" It was Dempsey's voice. Harry sat up again, wondering what on earth he was doing in her house at - she checked the clock - 9.30am, and answering her phone for her in such a discourteous manner.

"We had a late night," Dempsey all but snarled, and Harry groaned, deciding she would have to go and find out who he was being so rude to. It was probably Spikings, in which case they would both be in for a rollicking when they went in.

"None of your business."

Harry sighed. As she got out of bed, Harry registered that she was still fully dressed, which prompted her to remember the night before, her stupid decision to take drugs, and subsequently the reason she had chosen to do so. A heavy weight settled on her heart as she descended the stairs, her arms folded protectively across the front of her body.

"I'm her best friend, actually," Dempsey was announcing assertively as she entered her living room. His back was to the door so he didn't realise she had entered the room until she swiped the phone from his hand; he turned with a look of faint surprise. He didn't even have the good grace to look sheepish, she thought, as she spoke into the phone.

"Hello, who's there, please?" she said, hoping irrationally and almost unconsciously that her own politeness would make up for Dempsey's rudeness.

"Harriet? It's Jack. Why is _he_ answering your phone? Have you…spent the night with him?" _Poor Jack_, Harry thought. He couldn't decide if he was tentative or incensed.

She ran her free hand through her mussed-up hair. _What a mess._ "Jack, I'll be honest with you, I'm not quite sure what he's doing here either but I did _not…_sleep with him. He looked after me last night because…I was upset. But that's all."

Dempsey tried not to listen to what Harry was saying to her boyfriend; he just didn't want to know. But part of him desperately wanted to hear how she interpreted last night's events. Harry gave a sigh; he wondered what Jack had said.

"I don't really want to talk about it…Yes, I know I talked to James about it."

There was a longer pause, and Dempsey glanced at Harry to see that a furious expression was creeping over her face.

"Jack, I told you I didn't and I wouldn't lie. But…I think we do need to talk." Dempsey told himself the sudden lightening of his heart was coincidental, nothing to do with the hope that the much-used phrase 'we need to talk' would be followed by the usual course of events. "I'll meet you in the Red Lion at eight, okay? We can have a drink…See you later."

Harry put the phone down slowly. With her hand still resting on it, she tapped one finger pensively.

"Why _are _you here, James?" she asked curiously.

"Just makin' sure you're alright."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "And why did you answer my phone?"

"Didn't want it to wake you up," he replied, still not sure if he was in trouble or not.

"But it's _my phone_!"

Ah. He was in trouble. Now that was unfair, considering that last night he had stopped his partner from hurting or embarrassing herself, got her home safely, held her while she cried, and got her into bed when she fell asleep. He scowled. "Harry, I really think you're bein' ungrateful here," he pointed out.

She paused; this was the crucial moment where things would either explode into an argument or fizzle out like a damp match. "Perhaps a little," Harry conceded, and Dempsey smiled with relief. "Though you're apparently my best friend, so you should be able to put up with it," she added dryly, and Dempsey's smile brightened into a grin.

"You know me, I'll put up with anything," he replied. It was as close to a touching remark as he got.

The two friends maintained eye contact for several seconds.

"James…" Harry began tentatively. "Why did you kiss me?"

The grin faded from Dempsey's face as he considered. That was a question he hadn't really considered. He just had, because she was there and she was beautiful and he'd just spent a great few days in her company. The parting had put him in mind of a date, and he'd reacted instinctively. _And jealously,_ put in a small voice. _Shut up, _he told it. "'Cause I wanted to," he responded as truthfully as he could. It was really all he was sure of; he had wanted to kiss her, so he did.

Harry bit her lip. "Thank you for last night."

He shrugged it off. "What are friends for?"

They exchanged a small smile, and Harry initiated a hug.

"I'll do it again if this is the thanks I get," he said, a smile in his voice. Harry could hear his chest reverberating as he spoke.

She hit him gently on the back, without unwinding her arms. "Shut up, silly," she ordered playfully. She let him go and ran a hand through her hair. "Mmm, I feel grotty. I need to brush my hair."

Dempsey reached out and very deliberately messed up her hair further. "I kinda like it. Makes you look like you just got outta bed." The smirk that accompanied this remark left Harry in no doubt of the implications of it. She should probably tell him off, she thought.

She just laughed. "One day, James, I'll get through a whole conversation with you without you making a single dirty comment."

"Nah, never," he promised, grinning.


	5. Part 4

"I'd still rather have just pummelled that guy into oblivion," Dempsey said conversationally as he pulled up outside the fish and chip shop which Billy had said was owned by his supplier. He was referring to Billy, who had - slightly unfairly - taken on a kind of demonic quality in Dempsey's memory, after selling cocaine to Harry. _I'm not over-protective,_ he told himself firmly. _Stuff it, yeah I am. I dunno what I'd do if she got hurt._ This thought occurred to him as they approached the shop.

It was a typical example of a chip shop: large glass windows, off-white walls, menu and prices over the counter, greasy metal shelves behind the counter containing pork pies and golden fillets of fish -

_Ding._

- and a bell on the door. The shop was sparsely populated - a woman and two men, each in their forties. The two men were sitting on the chairs by the window talking to each other in low voices, while the woman stood by the counter, tapping her long fingernails in a bored manner. As Dempsey and Makepeace entered, a sweating young man emerged from behind the shelves and plonked two packages wrapped in newspaper on the counter.

"Cod an' chips twice," he announced, and the two men stood up to claim them. To the woman, he said, "Two more minutes for yours." He turned to Dempsey and Makepeace. "Hello," he said expectantly, waiting for their order.

"We're just lookin' for Max, is he in?" asked Harry in her American accent.

"'E's in the back, cooking. Ye'll have to wait for 'im."

"No, that's fine, we'll just go in and see him," Dempsey said firmly, lifting up the counter and pushing through the half-door in the front. Harry followed.

"'Ere, wait a minute, you can't do that," the young man protested fruitlessly as they pushed past him and through to the back room. The man hastily closed the counter up before following. "Boss, don't blame me, they just pushed past me!"

A rotund man with a green apron tied around his waist picked up a metal cage and spewed its contents into one of the compartments on the partition in front of him before straightening up.

"Who are they?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Dan Green, Lynda Carlisle," Dempsey said, holding out a hand.

Max shook it. "What are you doing here?"

"We've heard you might be the man to come to for a good time, you know?"

"Tim, get that sausage and chips out," Max ordered. The young man went to do so. "Keep talking," he told Dempsey.

"Well, the girlfriend and I," - he put an arm around Harry's waist and pulled her close to him - "we like a good party, and we've got a lot of friends comin' over next week so we need somethin' to, you know, cheer everyone up. We heard you got some Charlie."

"Might have," Max replied. "How much you paying?"

"Believe me, money ain't a problem," Harry assured him with a fake laugh.

Max looked intently at the two of them, clearly trying to decide whether or not they were trustworthy. In the end, he nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "Wait here. And don't bloody touch anything, I don't want food standards on me back again."

"Remind me never to eat here," Harry murmured as he disappeared through a door at the back of the shop.

"Grease an' sweat ain't your thing, eh Harry?" Dempsey teased as they followed him - how could they not?

"Certainly not," she replied, pulling a faintly disgusted face.

They came upon Max in a tiny room featured a safe, a desk and a chair, putting a small box - about the size of a shoebox - on the desk.

Without further ado, Dempsey pulled his gun out and pointed it at the back of Max's head. "We're the police, by the way, and you're under arrest for possessing and supplying drugs," he informed him calmly.

Max froze, swore, and tried to clamber onto the desk to get out of the window. Luckily, he was very out of shape, and had barely got one foot on the desk before Dempsey and Makepeace pushed him forwards, causing him to fall face-first onto it.

"I'd advise you to come quietly, Max," Harry said. "The Lieutenant here isn't too particular about who he shoots."

Grudgingly, Max allowed himself to be dragged out of the office, through the kitchen area and out to the front of the shop, struggling and protesting his innocence all the way. Harry simply waved one of the white paper bags which had been in the box in front of his nose, and he shut up, knowing they had plenty of proof.

When they got back to SI10, Dempsey dumped Max unceremoniously on Spikings' desk. "Max Weaver, owner of a chip shop and supplier to Billy who sold cocaine to Lydia on the night she died, causin' her to jump off a bridge. You can question him or somethin' but now Harry's goin' home and she ain't comin' back for a few days. She ain't up to it. Compassionate leave or whatever the hell it's called."

"_What?_" Spikings and Harry said in unison.

"Hey, that's good, you should have an act or somethin'," Dempsey said. "Yeah, Harry's not bein' a good cop at the moment," - he ignored Makepeace's incensed glare - "she needs some time off."

"Makepeace, you've been off so much recently you may as well not be working here, but Dempsey's right. I told you that yesterday."

Harry frowned at the fact that they were making decisions for her, but seeing as she'd been planning to ask for a few days off to organise her father's funeral, it seemed childish to argue.

"As for you, Dempsey, get this man down to the drugs squad and tell them they can finish off the case. You're going to be busy assisting Dave while Sergeant Makepeace is on leave," he said with a smug grin.

-:-

Jack stood as Harry approached the table he was sitting at in the pub. "Hello, Harriet," he said, looking apprehensive. He kissed her on the cheek and smiled nervously as she sat opposite him.

"How are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm…I'm fine," he responded, not sounding it. His grey eyes regarded her uncertainly. "And you?"

"Fine, thank you," she lied.

There were a few moments of silence, followed by a short stilted conversation mostly concerning the weather. When silence fell again, Harry decided she'd better get on with it.

"Listen, Jack…I think you're a wonderful man, I really do, you're so kind and caring, but…I think we should stop seeing each other." There. It was out.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I knew you were going to say that."

"I'm sorry, it's just, I…I have feelings for someone else, and while I don't think anything's going to happen it's not fair on you to be in a relationship with someone who can't give you their whole heart. You deserve better than that." _You really do, please believe me._

"What if I'm quite happy with this?" he replied flatly.

Harry took his hand. "I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack looked down at their joined hands with a sad smile. "Not as sorry as I am." His gaze found her face again. "Now that's just not fair," he said in a stronger voice.

"What?" she asked, slightly confused.

"Why do you have to still be so beautiful? I'm going to have a hard time convincing myself you're an ugly troll and I'm better off without you."

It was the twinkle of a smile in his eyes that really made Harry laugh aloud. _I could so easily have fallen for you,_ she thought.

"It's your partner, isn't it? The man you've got feelings for."

Harry nodded. "I think I'm in love with him."

"Well if you think you are, the chances are that you probably are," he pointed out sensibly.

They watched each other silently, memorising everything about the other. "Good luck, Harriet. I'd like it if we could still be friends, but if you'd rather just stop talking to me I understand."

"I hope we can stay friends as well," Harry agreed. "Goodbye, Jack."

He rose with her and gave her a last, lingering kiss on the cheek before each left to go their separate ways.


End file.
